Two to Tango
by piaffe417
Summary: And Alex should have moved away then – she should have pulled back to a respectable and chaste distance and finished out the song with all of the professionalism that she and Bobby showed the other three hundred and sixty four days of the year."


Author's Note: As though it needs to be said, I don't own these characters. I can't even afford to rent them (as if Dick Wolf would even consider that). The only thing in here I own is the annual law enforcement ball and that isn't worth much. (The character of Terry is only kind of mine – he was mentioned in "Unrequited" when Alex revealed that she had attended a benefit for first responders. I figure the least she could have done was take him to two events so I borrowed him here.) Spoilers for "Pas de Deux" – it's my little take on the scene at the dance studio. I dedicate it to Alamo Girl because we had a deal.

She could feel his glance the moment it came to rest on her. It was a movement so engrained in her consciousness – a double consciousness, really, because it was more _theirs_ than it was hers anymore – that she didn't even need to turn her head to be able to read his thoughts. She knew exactly what he wanted, almost as though he had asked his question aloud, yet a sudden twitching flutter in her stomach told her to ignore him, so she did.

Undeterred, he tried once more, his inquiry reinforced by a touch to her arm and a waggle of his head. His left hand twitched as though to link his fingers with hers, but he was shy about the whole thing, embarrassed to be asking her and growing uncomfortable as the moment stretched to the breaking point. Still, she hesitated, unsure of what would happen if she consented and because of this, he ultimately fumbled in his attempt.

Ultimately, it was the fumble that took the answer out of her hands, for while her partner hung in midair, a short dark-haired man who suddenly appeared behind her left shoulder and took the hand of Detective Alex Eames. With an apologetic glance behind her, she let him sweep (or, perhaps more accurately, _drag_) her onto the dance floor, leaving fumbling Bobby Goren standing awkward and alone. He would have to find someone to waltz with – someone who didn't feel his presence so acutely that she couldn't separate her own thoughts from his and who didn't hesitate when he touched her arm and asked in that boyish way of his for five minutes of a simple box step.

In short, he needed to dance with anyone who wasn't Alex.

While she didn't know exactly why it was that she couldn't bring herself to dance with her partner, she knew what it wasn't: it wasn't that Bobby had two left feet and she was worried that her tiny form would be trampled beneath a pair of size thirteens. In fact, she wished that was the problem – it would justify her motive and assuage the twinge of shame she'd felt when she abandoned him for… oh lord, she'd forgotten the name of the man she was dancing with already! Tom? Ted? It was one of those. But alas, her partner – her _real_ partner, not this short, sweaty-palmed imitation - was no slouch on the dance floor.

Right now, in fact, he was proving his prowess to a nervous-looking middle-aged woman with long brown hair and a furtive manner (probably the suspect they were seeking if Bobby's track record in such instances held true). Swaying and shuffling his feet in just the right rhythm, Bobby looked completely at home even though the woman's movements were jerky and nervous and Alex was reminded that there were only two times when Bobby actually had the capacity to be labeled as, well… _graceful_: those moments when he was deep in thought and also when he was dancing. At this moment, he was doing both and grace hung on him like a cape. Sweeping slowly across the floor, Bobby presented an image that was in total contrast to the loose-jointed walk that moved him from place to place and made one wonder how (and even if) his legs were connected to the rest of his body. (Bobby Goren in a full run also brought about questions pertaining to physics and Alex had never been able to look at her partner the same since the day one of his narcotics buddies had described it as "a windmill tilting at Don Quixote.")

And, as Alex felt her toes being stepped on for the fourth time (or was it the fifth?), her eyes rolled heavenward and she momentarily wished that she had reached for Bobby's hand when he fumbled, that she had caught him like she always did and let him sweep _her_ out onto the floor instead of the nervous woman. After all, it wasn't as though she had never danced with him before.

And yet, the more she thought on it, the more she began to realize that perhaps that first dance had caused her earlier hesitation.

It had occurred during the annual law enforcement ball, a midwinter event put on by the mayor (or, more accurately, the mayor's wife) in order to unite the top law enforcement officials in the city for an evening of camaraderie and politicking. The guest list usually included more than a few lawyers, police captains and other high-ranking law enforcement officials and it also included all detectives first grade, which was why Captain Deakins made it a point to remind Goren and Eames every year that, as the most successful detectives in their division (and the city), attendance was mandatory.

Alex preferred to think of the ball as a yearly test of both her and Bobby's patience, as attending required the ability to be flat out charming to politically-minded attorneys for a stretch that usually totaled five or six hours and left Alex's tongue raw from having to bite it every few minutes. Somehow, Bobby managed to maintain an even keel, though he and Alex spent much of the night rolling their eyes and making faces at each other behind the backs of the bigwigs while sipping a few more drinks than they probably should in order to maintain a suitably neutral facade.

The attire for the evening was (naturally) black-tie and this year, thanks to having just given birth as a surrogate mother for her sister, Alex had chosen a dress that served the dual purpose of being comfortable and covering up her still slightly-rounded stomach. A basic black number with a twisting, sequined pattern down the front and sides fit the bill nicely and its stretchy velvet material was just soft enough to remind her of her pajamas waiting at home. (As the evening wore on and she began to fantasize more seriously about her pajamas and a steaming mug of tea, however, she began to slightly regret the choice, but by then it was too late.)

Bobby had donned the prerequisite tuxedo for the occasion and proceeded to prove that black really _did_ have the ability to make one appear taller. Already six foot four in his socks, the fitted tux in its inky hue made him seem at least six foot seven, if not seven feet altogether. And as though the clothes weren't striking enough, Alex had felt her jaw drop slightly upon seeing him because he'd actually taken the time to shave before coming, removing all traces of the stubble that usually peppered his face and, with it, banishing the air of haggardness that usually accompanied him. The effect was dramatic and had required a double take from Alex when he'd sidled up to her at the bar, where she was waiting for two glasses of white wine.

"I have a feeling you'll need something stronger than that soon," he'd said by way of greeting, his voice soft and tinged with a bit of hesitation as always. Even clothes like James Bond's couldn't render Bobby Goren completely confident in such a crowded setting. He'd leaned in close to her when he'd said it, though, and she'd realized that she'd missed the sound of his voice while she was on maternity leave, missed the way it rumbled out of his chest with force, yet manifested as a near whisper by the time it reached his lips. Talking to him on the phone was a poor substitute for hearing him in person.

"I don't like the sound of that," she'd responded dryly when she'd recovered her own voice, having taken in "Tuxedo Bobby" with a bit of awe. "Who's looking for us and how long do you think we can hide out?"

"Apparently the mayor would like to personally welcome you back from leave and hear the story of the Holcomb case one more time," Bobby frowned and began to reach for the second glass of wine the bartender had handed to Alex.

"Ah - not so fast," she pulled it out of reach.

"Oh," he started slightly and dropped his hand back to his side, then looked to the floor in characteristic embarrassment. "You, uh, brought a date."

"Yes I did," she responded as his eyes lifted to hers once more, then quickly asked, "But I thought you were bringing someone too – where's Karen from Judge Kimball's office?"

"She, uh, had to go out of town," he replied. "Her… her brother's getting married this weekend."

Alex could tell she'd thrown her partner off. He'd assumed that she would also be coming to the event on her own and that they could pair off as they usually did, using each other's company to fend off the political types they both disliked so much. He'd _assumed_ she'd come alone - but he hadn't asked - and therefore she shouldn't feel guilty for bringing Terry, her date. (She _shouldn't _feel guilty, but she did anyway. She always did when Bobby's feelings were involved; it was a reflex she'd developed over the years.)

"Look, why don't you…?" she started to say before Terry materialized behind her.

"I thought I'd lost you," he said, taking the flute of wine she offered and stealing a sip before noticing Bobby standing by. Observing the dark eyes of the detective on him, his own pale brows lifted in surprise and curiosity.

"Terry Weaver, this is my partner, Bobby Goren," Alex introduced the two in an effort to smooth what had somehow become an awkward moment. (All moments that included Alex, Bobby, and another man somehow always turned out that way, she had noticed.)

The men shook hands in a civil manner and Bobby quickly profiled the fit but slightly balding man before him.

"You're a doctor?" Bobby looked him up and down and focused just below Terry's eyes while he spoke, a technique he normally reserved for suspects. "What's your specialty?"

"Emergency medicine," Terry answered with awe in his tone. "How did you…?"

"Pager," Bobby replied succinctly, indicating a pager attached to Terry's cummerbund and barely visible beneath his jacket. "You're… you're on call tonight."

"Yes," Terry nodded, his eyes slightly wide as he stared at Bobby a bit warily. Alex could tell that he felt like a suspect but he wasn't sure what he had done to earn such scrutiny. She also couldn't blame him for feeling uncomfortable – Bobby made his living putting people off balance and it was impossible for him to turn it off when he wasn't working. (She didn't even think he knew he was doing it anymore; it had become too much a part of his day-to-day personality.)

"You know, I should go over and say hi to Captain Deakins," Alex jumped in before Bobby could pull out any more interrogation tactics and use them on her unsuspecting date. She and Terry had been seeing each other on and off for a few months – ever since midway through her pregnancy when she'd met him in the hospital parking lot while leaving a regular appointment with her obstetrician – but she hadn't really discussed her work or her relationship with her partner with him. The ball was hardly the time or place and she knew that the best way to avoid the topic was to separate the two men.

"I'll see you later," Bobby met Alex's eyes and she could see that he had read her mind and was stepping back to give her some space.

"Let me know if the mayor catches up with you," she gave a small wry smile that he answered with one of his own.

"I hope he catches you first – you always tell the Holcomb story better anyway."

"Thanks a lot, Bobby."

Alex and Terry moved away.

"You're partner's very… detail-oriented," Terry said to her as they crossed the room to where Captain Deakins and his wife stood chatting with Captain Don Cragen of the Manhattan Special Victims Unit.

"He takes some getting used to," Alex told him dismissively but with a wry grin. Now that they were away from him, she wasn't eager to make Bobby a topic of conversation, not only because her partner required a great deal of explanation, but also because she was never sure how to qualify their relationship. "We can talk without words" never seemed to pacify the curious and usually brought about more questions than answers.

Terry wasn't put off by her tone, though. "He's very protective of you."

Alex stopped walking and turned to face him, realizing that her short answer hadn't worked. Her tone was mild but her words were carefully chosen: "He's a good guy – give him some time and I think he'll grow on you."

"You're very close," Terry said after a long moment during which he seemed to be processing her words. It was an observation rather than an accusation.

"We've been through a lot together," she conceded.

Terry smiled and gave her shoulders an affectionate squeeze as they continued their progress towards the Deakinses. Alex chose not to add anything more to the discussion, deciding that Bobby was a touchy subject best left alone for the remainder of the evening. She sensed that Terry was a bit jealous of her relationship with her partner but, despite the reaction she'd had to seeing her partner in his tuxedo (a leap in her chest that she hadn't felt since James Bowman had asked her to dance at Homecoming her junior year of high school), she was confident in their status as partners and friends only. So she held her tongue and decided to let her actions be her proof.

Unfortunately, it was those actions that proved to be her undoing.

Things went smoothly right up until the band began to play and people began to dance. Up until that point, Alex managed to avoid her partner, didn't offend anyone from the District Attorney's office, and found herself actually having a good time with Terry. He took her for a few spins around the dance floor and proved to be quite proficient as a dance partner – even though she occasionally forgot what she was doing and tried to lead. Distracted and laughing at her own actions, she didn't notice Bobby at the bar until she almost collided with him, backing into his solid form as she moved aside to allow another couple to step up and place their order.

"Long time no see," he said softly, his dark eyes taking in her smile in that ever-magnetic way of his. Every time he looked at her – really _looked_ at her – she always felt as though he could see her every thought.

"Hey, Bobby," Alex greeted him softly.

"You two looked like you were having fun out there," he gestured to the dance floor, where a bright waltz was keeping the dancing couples on their toes.

"Maybe next time I'll get to lead," Terry put in, his tone friendly. Spending time with Alex away from her partner seemed to have put him in a better frame of mind.

"Not a chance," Bobby shook his head teasingly.

"Hey!" Alex slapped his arm and the three laughed.

They were interrupted, though, when Terry suddenly grabbed his pager and held it up to read the message scrolling across the tiny monitor.

"I'd better go call in," he frowned thoughtfully. To Alex, he said, "I'm sorry – be right back."

"I'll be here," she smiled understandingly as he made his way through the crowd, leaving her with Bobby.

"A doctor's work is never done," her partner observed, sipping what appeared to be scotch and soda.

"Not just a doctor's," she reminded him as her glass of wine was handed to her and she took a sip. "I'm surprised we haven't gotten a call tonight."

"Careful what you wish for," Bobby waggled a finger at her. Both grinned knowingly, each having been pulled away from countless events to investigate crimes in the past.

A moment passed then, quiet and unobtrusive, while each delved into their own thoughts and memories (though when Bobby chuckled softly to himself, Alex was certain he was remembering the New Year's Eve they had spent searching a dumpster for evidence while dressed up to attend their respective parties – Alex in spiky heels and a sparkly top and Bobby in nice slacks and a leather jacket that had never been the same since). Before them, the dancers on the floor picked up the pace slightly as the band began to play the old Cole Porter standard, "Begin the Beguine." And it was then that Bobby sat his drink down and, without meeting his partner's eyes, shifted his weight towards her and asked softly, "Want to, uh, dance?"

"What?" Alex yelped. The question had unnerved her and she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was the wine (she hadn't really had a drink since giving birth) or maybe it was Bobby's appearance in his tuxedo and that rumbling, husky voice…

Or maybe it was something else, something deeper that she didn't want to bring to the surface but that had been pestering her since they'd met at the bar earlier in the evening. She'd realized then that she had missed him while she was on leave, missed the confidence she had when they were together. She'd missed his smiles – the small one that lit his eyes and the full-out grin that was rare and temporarily removed twenty years from his face. What's more, she'd missed the sense of normalcy he brought to her life (which was ironic, considering that nothing Bobby Goren did was ever truly normal). Bobby represented that part of her life that wasn't wrapped up in baby blankets and sonograms and swollen ankles – the part of her that Terry hadn't even gotten to see until just recently.

In short, Bobby knew the real Alex Eames – he was a significant part of who she was, in fact - and that was what she wanted to find again, to cling to and bury herself in.

"Want to dance?" Bobby repeated before he became shy again, adding a shrug and, "I mean, who knows how long before Terry gets back? Besides, the mayor's headed this way."

Alex threw a quick glance over her shoulder to see that His Honor was, in fact, making his way towards them through the crowd. Whether it was the opportunity to avoid making small talk or whether it was the sudden sense of emptiness that had come over her – emptiness that at this moment it seemed could only be filled by one person - Alex wasn't sure. All she knew was that somewhere between sighting the mayor and feeling the pull from her partner's dark eyes, she agreed and took Bobby's hand, allowing him to lead her out to the middle of the crowded dance floor. His sheer size cleared their path easily and she felt suddenly exposed, as though all eyes in the room had abruptly shifted to her. Furtive glances to her left and right proved that this was not the case, but she couldn't shake the feeling, especially as two things happened simultaneously that froze the moment in her memory:

First, the band ended "Begin the Beguine" and began a very slow saxophone feature, which Alex recognized (thanks to her father's love of old time jazz) as "At Last," originally performed by Etta James.

And then Bobby turned, his right arm reaching behind her to pull her close while his left hand enveloped hers.

At that moment, if everyone in the room _had_ been watching her, Alex knew she wouldn't have noticed because she suddenly felt as though she and Bobby were the only ones on the planet. They didn't speak and it occurred to her that they didn't need to – they were already well practiced at dancing together. After all, they did it every day when they were on the job: when they interrogated suspects he would move left and she would follow or he would set her up to execute a perfect turn at the right moment so as to catch someone in a lie. It had been a while since they'd done so, but they were still in step, still reading each other's movements and thoughts with crystal clarity.

Only now, the dancing was real.

The song seemed to stretch forever. Alex was conscious of the music, of the pressure of Bobby's hand on the small of her back and the warmth of his other hand as it enclosed hers protectively. Unlike when they were working, though, here there was no evidence trail to follow, no deception or violence. This was easy: Bobby moved right and Alex followed. Then he moved left and back, their feet matching step perfectly, and instinctively she felt herself step closer to him so that the only scent filling her nostrils was that of his aftershave and the only thing she could see was the shiny black of his lapel and the smooth curve of his chin. He inhaled sharply when she moved in and she felt his arm tighten slightly around her, bringing them so close that a piece of tissue paper wouldn't fit between their bodies while he brought his left hand – the one holding hers - down so that it was against his chest where she felt the steady thud of his heartbeat. His head lowered and without hesitation, hers came to rest beside it, their temples pressed together so that she wasn't sure who was clinging to whom anymore or even who was leading; all she knew was that she never wanted it to end.

And Alex should have moved away then – she should have pulled back to a respectable and chaste distance and finished out the song with all of the professionalism that she and Bobby showed the other three hundred and sixty four days of the year. But she didn't. It had been a long time since she'd concentrated on nothing except her next footfall, anticipating her partner's next move without multitasking about forensic reports and motives. It had been a long time since they'd danced at all. Besides, the song would soon end and she and Bobby would go back to normal, right?

_Right?_

If only it had been that easy when the song finally reached its inevitable end. If only she and Bobby had fallen apart like polarized magnets instead of holding on an extra moment because it took that long for both to notice that the song had concluded. And if only poor Terry hadn't been standing at the bar watching the whole thing. Then things might not have fallen apart and the evening wouldn't have ended with Terry telling Alex: "I have to go to the hospital but I'm sure your partner will be more than capable of taking care of you. Good night."

The rest of the evening was a blur, but Alex recalled the feelings of guilt and disappointment with utter clarity – feelings that had resurfaced only moments ago when Bobby had invited her to dance with him once more. And that was ultimately why she hesitated - because she didn't wish to duplicate the experience and compromise their case the way she had compromised her relationship with Terry. The way she had clung to Bobby – and he had clung to her – had made apology and explanation impossible. And yet she wouldn't change her decision to dance with him for anything, and for that, Alex held herself as much – if not more – responsible than she held her partner.

What was that old saying? It takes two to tango – and they'd definitely done that.

The song wound down and she smiled at Ted/Tom and parted ways quickly, toes still smarting. Making her way to Bobby's side, she saw he had tilted his head in the way that usually indicated he was on to something, so she waited for him to speak.

"Well, it's her," he told Alex softly, indicating his departing dance partner.

"Right height, right build," she agreed, picking up the thread of his thought.

"And she follows you wherever you lead her," he observed. Then, thinking of the other suspect in their case, he leaned down and added. "That would be what Johnny liked best."

"All right everyone, that was splendid," the instructor called from the front of the room, clapping her hands with glee. "How about another ballad?"

Alex was ready to go at that point, having accomplished what they had come for, but the moment the first strains of "At Last" could be heard, she froze.

Beside her, Bobby's gaze fell to the floor and she looked over in time to see the tops of his ears go pink.

_Not again!_ cried her subconscious and aloud she said, "Bobby, we'd better…"

"Yeah," Bobby interjected, gesturing towards the door. "We'd better…"

He trailed off and looked down again. Alex took a few steps towards where they'd hung their coats and then, realizing he wasn't with her, turned to face him.

"Hey, Eames?" he said softly. "You um…?"

He never lifted his head, but indicated the dance floor with a jerking motion of his left hand and a slight turn at the waist that beckoned her.

"Bobby." She made his name a complete sentence and tried to find the words to turn him down, but they never came. It had been a difficult week – the two had found out earlier that Bobby's arch nemesis Nicole Wallace had been acquitted of her crimes and was walking around free – and the case they were working on wasn't particularly easy. So who was she to say no to a man who just wanted to dance for five minutes and forget his troubles? He had done the same for her at the law enforcement ball, had let her cling to him in order to rediscover her old self – the old self that he relied on for balance and the old self he wanted to dance with now.

"Just for a minute?" he asked again, looking boyish and apologetic. He obviously felt bad for asking and in his eyes she could see that he wouldn't blame her for saying no.

And that was why she had to say yes.

"All right," she softly agreed, taking his outstretched hand and allowing herself to be pulled onto the floor. Firmly, she added, "But just for a minute."

Yet as they moved in perfect sync around the room, Alex felt herself relax and felt peace wash over her. This was easy – being with Bobby and dancing was easy – and for the next few minutes, she wasn't going to worry about bank robbers or suspects or motives. For the next few minutes, she was going to simply dance and not think about the complicated, yet well-rehearsed,tango they would execute later on in the interrogation room. That one would take more planning; for now, she and Bobby would just dance.

"Ready, Eames?" he asked, a sparkle in his eye and, as always,she knew what he was thinking.

"Ready," she grinned and let him spin her out and away, then pull her close again, their feet keeping perfect time with the music.

And since he was doing such a good job, she decided to let him continue to lead – for another minute anyway.

Author's Note (the sequel): Well, what do you think? Too shippy? Too incoherent? Let me know – I'mopen to editing this thing.


End file.
